White Robes
by Apoca-LipStyx
Summary: Once a year Italy rises before either Germany or the sun and slips on his old white, Catholic robes. He thinks Germany doesn't know about it but he does, but what he doesn't know is why Italy only does it on this particular day...
1. Chapter 1

He thinks I don't notice but I do….

I keep my eyes shut, still pretending to sleep as I feel the small warm body beside me rise. This was something I'd grown accustomed to for the few decades we'd been together. The one day a year Italy rises before either me or the sun. I blink my eyes open to watch as he moves closer to the closet, the moonlight escaping thru the blinds falling parallel to the few long healed battle scars interrupting the soft, sun kissed skin of the mans back, highlighting each one as if he'd received them just yesterday. It pained me to see these marks upon the country's skin, we all had them, this was true; from centuries of wars and depressions but they seemed so misplaced on Italy's flesh. He was always smiling, always happy, always wanting to settle things peacefully, undeserving of the violence everyone knew came with them. Italy deserved the peace he so strived to create. I'd fight to give him that peace one day and then those scars would merely be a faint reminder of the past.

I watch as he digs into the back of the closet, hearing the soft metallic pinging of empty hangers brushing against each other, he looks back at me, I quickly shut my eyes, not that I really needed to it was still so dark out but I didn't want to take the chance. I peek again once I hear Italy back in the closet. I know what he's looking for, its what he gets every time. I listen for the faint rustling of old fabric before I see it. Italy's bright, white Catholic robes. He slips them on effortlessly, smoothing his small hands over the pure white fabric, then he reaches up behind him, unclasping the iron cross necklace I'd given him so long ago and placing it on the dresser. I can't help but feel a twinge of hurt as its laid aside, Italy always wears it and for him to shed it so easily is like he's shedding me.

But this is the only day he ever takes it off…..

And I don't know why….

He only ever does these things on this day, wake before dawn, wear those robes, remove the necklace and he's never told me why. Never told me why its always this day and why he does it. Ive want to ask but Ive always figured if he wanted to tell me he would. I don't know where he goes when he leaves but he's always back before I wake up again, the robes are tucked back into the wardrobe, and his face is buried in my chest, sound asleep; most times with the lingering look of tears still clinging to his eyelashes. The tears are what worry me the most….

Im pulled from my thoughts as Italy moves across the room to slip on his boots, lacing them up with ease before standing, he then retrieves his bible and rosary from the self, placing the small, white, beret like hat upon his head; completing the formal look. Italy looked like a saint standing there in the now dimly lit bedroom, nearly aglow in the white robes hanging loosely from his frame. I cant help but smile to myself.

I close my eyes again. I know what was coming next. I hear the soft shuffle of feet approaching my side of the bed along with the swish of fabric. Next a small hand pushes back the fallen stray strands of blonde hair from my eyes; the touch of his hand is warm and loving and I relax again. The touch is soon followed by a gentle press of lips to my temple that lingers momentarily before he whispers affectionately in my ear, "Ti amo, Germania…" Its in his native language, Italian, and heavy with accent but I know what he says and I cant hide the warmth that rushes over my face.

I love you, Germany….

And I thank God for the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

I feel the blankets being pulled up gently over my legs. I always kicked the covers off most nights, whether from restlessness or the occasional kicking spell. Italy found it endearing, always pulling them back over me in the middle of the night. I feel a final lingering touch to my arm before the nation exits the room, the door barely making a sound as he closes it behind him. I wait to here the front door lock to click before sitting up in the bed, running a hand back through my hair. I sigh softly, looking over on the nightstand at the clock. I wasn't even 5 am yet.

I think about it, knowing Italy couldn't be going too far. We lived in one of the oldest parts of Venice. Anywhere he ever wanted to go or anything he wanted to do was always within walking distance, mind it was usually a long walk but Italy always loved to just walk around the city. Picking flowers, going to the market, sitting outside the cathedrals to listen to the neighborhood children sing. Italy was just simple like that; the smallest things could make him the happiest. And it was something that still baffled me to this day.

I get up, kicking the blankets off my legs, swinging them off the bed to stand. I make quick work of getting dressed, throwing on a casual white button up over my usual black undershirt and slipping into a pair of khaki pants. Once dressed, I pull on a thin jacket, giving Italy's discarded iron cross necklace a final glance, before slipping out onto the street. The chilled morning air greets me, dismissing the last bit of grogginess in my system, cooling my face considerably. I look around, not finding too many people out. Mainly just a few elderly tending to their plants or sitting outside their homes, humming unfamiliar tunes while sipping a cup of espresso and waiting for the warm sun to rise, enjoying the mild morning. I flash a small smile to each one as I walk by, receiving a nod in return. A few vendors are setting up shop as well, pushing their carts or hanging their signs, all working quietly, keeping the near stillness in the air.

I turn the corner, finally making it to the main street along the canal, I keep my eyes open for Italy, knowing the man couldn't have gotten much farther. I look out over the waters of the canal, seeing the tall buildings on either side, an early morning fog settled along the surface of the water between them. It was eerily picturesque and breath taking, the only other sounds besides the soft slapping of water and the occasional thumping of boats against the sides of the canal where footsteps.

My own and those around me.

Being a main street, I had expected it to be more crowded but even that didn't disrupt the near silent ambiance of the morning atmosphere. It was a wonder all in itself.

I hear a sound up ahead, that familiar warm chirping of Italy's voice. It's followed by a soft laugh. I finally see him in a flutter of pure white, short russet hair standing out against it. He's talking to an old woman, her gnarled hands clasped in his warmly. He talks to her sweetly in Italian, the sound like honey to the ears. Italy was regarded highly among the older citizens, for they held the essence of the nation itself. He continues to converse with her, the old woman giving his arm a small pat before pulling away, handing the nation a small package wrapped in brown paper and string, most likely a few pastries or some sort of sweet bead. He thanks her graciously before continuing on his way. I follow behind slowly, a warm blush rising in my cheeks. I knew it looked bad following him around like this but I was truly curious. I wanted to know what made today so special and why Italy felt the need to hide it, especially from me. I mean we've been together for so long now. Was it really something Italy couldn't entrust to me?

I quickly clear the thoughts from my head as I feel the questions lay heavy in my heart.

**A/N: Hey there! Sorry for taking so long but between finding a new job and keeping up with life in general lol its kinda hard to get inspired to write :) I do hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as i loved finally writing it...next chapter will be better :) Please please please review! :D**


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